XPost: sci.lang, alt.usage.english
HenHanna wrote:
1. [or I will shoot you] <-- This part is optional (Modularity)
2. (Command) OR You'd risk getting....
--- the use of The Logical-OR is still fresh.
3. it's more like Lisp's OR (not the (functional) OR of math)
because...
________________________
[Stick'em up or I will shoot you] <-- Old fashioned expression?
You're right, "Stick 'em up or I will shoot you" is an old-fashioned expression. It's a classic line used by robbers in westerns and
gangster
movies, likely originating sometime in the early 20th century.
Here's why it might be considered old-fashioned:
Wording: The phrasing is a bit clunky and wouldn't be commonly used
today.
Context: Westerns and gangster films are less prevalent genres compared
to the past.
Here are some more modern alternatives, though they might not be as
dramatic:
"Give me your money!" (blunt)
"This is a robbery!" (clear)
(waves gun) "Don't move!" (threatening)
Don Juan had got out on Shooter's Hill;
Sunset the time, the place the same declivity
Which looks along that vale of good and ill
Where London streets ferment in full activity;
While every thing around was calm and still,
Except the creak of wheels, which on their pivot he
Heard,—and that bee-like, bubbling, busy hum
Of cities, that boil over with their scum:—
I say, Don Juan, wrapt in contemplation,
Walk'd on behind his carriage, o'er the summit,
And lost in wonder of so great a nation,
Gave way to 't, since he could not overcome it.
'And here,' he cried, 'is Freedom's chosen station;
Here peals the people's voice, nor can entomb it
Racks, prisons, inquisitions; resurrection
Awaits it, each new meeting or election.
'Here are chaste wives, pure lives; here people pay
But what they please; and if that things be dear,
'T is only that they love to throw away
Their cash, to show how much they have a-year.
Here laws are all inviolate; none lay
Traps for the traveller; every highway 's clear:
Here-' he was interrupted by a knife,
With,—'Damn your eyes! your money or your life!'
These freeborn sounds proceeded from four pads
In ambush laid, who had perceived him loiter
Behind his carriage; and, like handy lads,
Had seized the lucky hour to reconnoitre,
In which the heedless gentleman who gads
Upon the road, unless he prove a fighter,
May find himself within that isle of riches
Exposed to lose his life as well as breeches.
Juan, who did not understand a word
Of English, save their shibboleth, 'God damn!'
And even that he had so rarely heard,
He sometimes thought 't was only their 'Salam,'
Or 'God be with you!'—and 't is not absurd
To think so: for half English as I am
(To my misfortune), never can I say
I heard them wish 'God with you,' save that way;—
Juan yet quickly understood their gesture,
And being somewhat choleric and sudden,
Drew forth a pocket pistol from his vesture,
And fired it into one assailant's pudding—
Who fell, as rolls an ox o'er in his pasture,
And roar'd out, as he writhed his native mud in,
Unto his nearest follower or henchman,
'Oh Jack! I 'm floor'd by that 'ere bloody Frenchman!'
On which Jack and his train set off at speed,
And Juan's suite, late scatter'd at a distance,
Came up, all marvelling at such a deed,
And offering, as usual, late assistance.
Juan, who saw the moon's late minion bleed
As if his veins would pour out his existence,
Stood calling out for bandages and lint,
And wish'd he had been less hasty with his flint.
'Perhaps,' thought he, 'it is the country's wont
To welcome foreigners in this way: now
I recollect some innkeepers who don't
Differ, except in robbing with a bow,
In lieu of a bare blade and brazen front.
But what is to be done? I can't allow
The fellow to lie groaning on the road:
So take him up; I 'll help you with the load.'
But ere they could perform this pious duty,
The dying man cried, 'Hold! I 've got my gruel!
O for a glass of max! We 've miss'd our booty;
Let me die where I am!' And as the fuel
Of life shrunk in his heart, and thick and sooty
The drops fell from his death-wound, and he drew ill
His breath,—he from his swelling throat untied
A kerchief, crying, 'Give Sal that!'—and died.
--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: fsxNet Usenet Gateway (21:1/5)